


Running Away

by dancergrl1



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancergrl1/pseuds/dancergrl1
Summary: Philip gets drunk, gets in a fight, and damages The Coat. When PT gets wind of it, he gets really, really pissed. Philip, inebriated and inhibited, has had a run-in with his parents, and can’t tell the difference between PT and his father. After PT is finished reaming him up one side and down the other, he takes one step too close. Philip bolts, terrified of the consequences that are coming. PT gives chase, and spins him around and loosely holding his wrist. When he realizes what’s going on, he comforts Philip and drags it out of him why this happened at all.





	Running Away

**Author's Note:**

> So I was reading “I lost the hat...” and imagined what would happen if Philip ran out the door. So i started chatting with @overlycompensatedapprentice and she gave me ideas. So here you go. I’m sorry.

Philip wasn’t entirely sure who threw the first punch. It may have been him, but for what they were saying, about Anne and PT and the circus, they probably deserved it. He distantly realized he was wearing the ringmaster’s coat still, as he’d come here straight after the show.

—

_His parents had shown up to the show, and while they hadn’t interacted, he could see the sniff of disdain his mother gave every so often. Conveniently, only when Philip was looking. They were an enormous distraction, but Philip refused to let them ruin the show. He wouldn’t let them._

_He should have known they wouldn’t leave it just at coming to see and disapprove. They wouldn’t have, they always had to have the last word._

_“Philip.” The word was an order, a summons, and it would not do to ignore it. Wary of the consequences, he strode towards them._

_“Enjoy the show?” He asked. He should have known better, but how else was he supposed to start this conversation?_

_His mother joined the conversation. “You can come back now, wash your hands of this...farce.”_

_Philip laughed humorlessly. “Come back? Mother, you know I’m not coming back. This is my life now. I enjoy it here.”_

_He turned to walk back towards the ring, and a tight, painful grip around his wrist stops him. He can barely stop from whimpering in fear. It wasn’t the first time his parents had tried something._

_His father spun him around, holding onto his wrist tightly. Putting a heavy hand on his shoulder, it was all Philip could do to keep himself still. “Don’t say we didn’t offer.”_

_They walked away._   
—  
Philip had tossed down several shots after he'd arrived, getting pleasantly buzzed. He’d kept it coming with several glasses after, these taking a little more time to finish. Then he’d heard the talking. “Circus freaks...rich boy...Barnum...scourge of the city...scoundrel...cheat...liar….”

He’d strode over to them, not sure why, but buoyed by the amber liquid flowing through his head. “Whaddya got against th’circus?” He slurred. “Jus’ makin’ a livin’. Makin’ people...happy.”

The men were not nearly as drunk as Philip was. If they were, they held their liquor very well. “They aren’t normal, they don’t belong here. They oughta know their place, know their role in society. And it ain’t bein’ up on no stage.” Their leader cackled. Next Philip knew, he was doubled over, his hand aching but his stomach pounding. He whipped upright, catching someone in the nose, and took a step back.

“What? Couldn’t take reality so you started a fight?” He asked mockingly. That earned him a stiff hook to the jaw, and he swore he heard his neck crack. He retaliated blindly, throwing his own blows.

The bartender, finally noticing the brawl, escorted them outside. That’s where it got ugly. They pulled a knife, and he managed to dodge the swipes and slashes from reaching his skin. The coat was another story.

Philip bolted from the scene. At this point, he was more concerned for his life than his drinks. He had whiskey in his office.   
—  
When he got back to the circus, he slowed his pace. He was sure they hadn’t followed him. He slipped in through the back entrance, and ran up the stairs, trying to avoid anyone. He was successful until he reached his office. PT Barnum was coming down the hallway. Philip kept his eyes steadfastly on the floor as he attempted to slip in without being noticed. Far easier said than done, with his state of inebriation.

He should have known better.

“Philip, what are you thinking?” Barnum started. It was low, angry, and Philip couldn’t look at him. With the adrenaline draining, he was shaking, and his vision was starting to blur again, courtesy of the alcohol. “Are you...drunk?!” He asks. He’s seething.

Philip looks at him, and with his vision swimming in and out of focus, and Phineas in his top hat and long coat, he sees his father instead. “Please...no…” he slurs out. The shaking increases, but the last dregs of adrenaline have nothing to do with it.

“You come back...coat slashed to bits...drunk...What are you thinking?” Barnum takes a step closer, and Philip recognizes the anger in his face. He saw it in his father’s face, too, right before he would remind him how a Carlyle acted. Another step does him in.

He bolts. Blindly, he makes it down the hallway. His vision has tunneled to what’s in front of him, and he makes his way lithely around props and people alike. Reaching the stairs causes him a momentary pause, but he’s more afraid of what’s behind him than in front of him. He jumps the last few stairs of both levels, and takes off again through the lower level. He cuts through the ring and goes towards the stands. Maybe if he stays really quiet underneath them he won’t be found, he won’t get hurt.

Before he can reach them, a hand wraps around his wrist. He bites his tongue to keep from crying out. That would just make it worse. He twists it and turns it desperately, trying to break away, but the grasp doesn’t let go. The struggling is irritating the bruising courtesy of his father, but he can’t stop. If he does, it means he’s giving up. He doesn’t realize the struggling and twisting is sending the shredded cuffs of the waistcoat up his arms.

Barnum is shocked. He was angry, but he didn’t understand why Philip ran. He just wanted to know why he was drunk, and what had happened to the coat. He gave chase, watching how Philip dodged props and people. He was two steps behind him the entire time, but Philip’s speed was unmatchable. It was only when they reached the ring that Barnum was able to catch Philip. He held his wrist loosely. He didn’t want to hurt him.

Phineas saw Philip swallow hard, and his eyes tear up. Instead of looking at Philip’s face, twisted in fear, he looks down, watching to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself. The struggling has pushed the ends of the sleeves up past his wrists, and there is ugly blue and black bruising wrapping it. Some is older, but there are clearly fresh ones as well.

Barnum’s anger fades, and his voice lowers. “Philip.” Is all he says, and he’s so shocked that he lets go as Philip falls to the floor.

Philip cowers on the floor, hands over his head, shaking. “I’m...I’m sorry, please don’t I’m sorry I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry…” he continues like this, and realization hits Barnum like a sandbag. He was expecting to be hit.

Barnum sank down a decent distance away from him. “Philip, it’s okay.”

Philip whimpered and shook his head. He could only hear his father’s voice, using a tone that told him what was coming. He didn’t even realize that it was Barnum. He still heard and saw his father, his tophat, which Barnum had lost in the chase, and his voice spouting out hateful words and waiting, waiting, for the blows to rain upon him until he passed out. A solid hand across his shoulders, coming to rest with a weight across his back, is unexpected.

Barnum moved in towards him when the distance does nothing for the shaking man in front of him. He rests a hand across his shoulders. Philip flinches violently from the contact, but Barnum doesn’t pull away. “Philip?” He asks quietly.

Philip doesn’t respond.

“Philip.” He says again. It’s the same quiet, even tone he uses when anyone else is upset, especially his daughters.

“Phin?” It’s so small, so meek, and broken that Phineas wants to run, to take him away from all of this, but he needs to find out what’s wrong, first.

“Yeah...it’s me, kid.” Barnum breathes, a breath he didn’t know he was holding being released.

“I...is...I’m sorry…” he forces out. It’s disjointed, and confused.

“It’s alright, Philip.” Barnum pulls him closer, and Philip curls around him.

They let time go by. Eventually, Barnum nudges Philip gently. “Philip...are you ready to get up?”

Philip had slipped into a daze, the stress dissipating into sheer exhaustion. He nods dumbly, not entirely sure what he was being asked until he was heaved to his feet. He groans, the injuries sustained in the fight coming in full force.

Barnum practically carries Philip back to the backstage area and deposits him on a couch that’s taken up residence backstage. He starts to take off the shredded red coat, and rolls up the sleeves of Philip’s shirt to tend to the bruises circling his wrists. Philip whimpers, and Barnum stills.

“Philip?” He asks.

“I’m...fine…” he slurred. “Not...here?” He asked.

Barnum was surprised and concerned. However, he complied. “Upstairs, then.” He decided. Philip was a little more helpful getting to the office, and when barnum put him on the cot, he expected the entire situation to be over. He didn’t expect a glass put to his lips. “Drink.” Barnum stated.

Philip complied sluggishly. He frowned when he discovered it was water. He didn’t bother to complain. At least it was something.

Barnum began to unbutton Philip’s shirt. Philip batted his hands away. “Stop, Philip. You were in a fight, I need to check the injuries.” Barnum ordered. Philip froze, trembling slightly.

Barnum thought of Philip as his child. He’d never raise a hand to him, never hurt him in any way. But history taught Philip that men would hurt him. He was still learning there were exceptions to the rule. He continued to unbutton his shirt, and gasped at the bruising. He ran a hand over the rib cage, and finding nothing out of place, he allowed Philip to lie down.

Philip was asleep before his head hit the pillow.   
—  
Waking the next morning, Philip is disoriented. His head was pounding, and his body ached. He tried to remember what happened last night.

He couldn’t. Barnum stuck his head around the doorway, and was surprised to see him awake. “Hey.” He said softly.

Philip looked towards the door, and flushed. Dammit.

Barnum invited himself in, making himself comfortable. “What happened, last night?”

The panic comes rushing back, but Philip doesn’t know why. His breathing quickens and suddenly barnum is next to him, using slow, calm words to bring him back.

“Philip, we need to talk. You came back, drunk, beaten, and slashed to hell. What happened?” Barnum asks.

Philip takes a deep breath, unobtrusively grabbing the rail of the cot behind him to ground himself. “My parents showed up, Father was trying to convince me to come with him.” He begins to rub his bruised wrist. “They wouldn’t let me have the last word. So I went out...and people were saying….things. I got angry, and even. And we got thrown out. They pulled a knife, slashed up the coat. I ran here. After...I don’t really remember.”

Barnum looks at him. He can’t see the wisdom behind his actions, only his stupidity. He thinks of him as a child, his child, and fears for his safety as much as Caroline and Helen’s. At a loss for words, Barnum pulls him in tightly. He whispers to him, the force behind his words surprising. “Philip, I will never, I swear, raise a hand to you. I might get angry, but I will never hurt you.”

Philip fell asleep on the older man, still tired and sore from the day before, but far more secure in his position and his safety in the circus.


End file.
